


Loom

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas is self-conscious of a ‘scar.’
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 20
Kudos: 289





	Loom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savour_the_Hunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savour_the_Hunt/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for albino_obscurial’s “Legolas has somehow lost a large section of hair right in the middle (my idea was an orc had grabbed it during an attack and Aragorn or Boromir had cut his hair to free him but that's not necessary) and although it will grow back quickly, he is extremely insecure about it. Gimli is the only member of the fellowship who really understands how upset he is, so he offers to style his hair to help him hide it until the missing hair grows back.” request on [my dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They stop for camp at the same point they always do—when it’s far too dark to see where they’re going and the hobbits are crying for sleep. Gimli’s been grumbling under his breath, because as hardy as he is, there’s a limit to how long his stout legs can keep up with Aragorn’s relentless pace. Boromir makes no complaint. Legolas hasn’t either, though Gimli’s been expecting him to falter ever since their skirmish with the pack of stray orcs that now lies dead behind them. 

Legolas continues on as bravely as the rest of them, though Gimli’s not surprised when he wanders off as soon as their camp is made. Aragorn and Boromir talk quietly by the fire, the hobbits curling up around one another in their smattering of cloaks and blankets. Gimli wants to sleep, but instead he leaves the safety of the low-burning fire. He wanders through the thick underbrush after their lone elf and finds him standing by the stream.

The water ebbs slowly past, cold and quiet. Legolas stares down at it, his pretty lips drawn in an uncharacteristic frown. He’s usually the pleasant one. Only a day ago, Gimli would’ve thought his spirit unbreakable. But it’s clear that he’s supremely _bothered_ by what’s happened to him. There’s a large, jagged line across the back of his hair: plainly missing an enormous chunk of silken yellow strands. In Gimli’s humble opinion, Legolas still looks far better put together than all the rest of them do. But that doesn’t seem to be enough. 

Gimli comes right up behind him and asks, “Does it bother you that much, Elf?”

Legolas’ chin lifts. His silhouette straightens, thought it doesn’t tense, and when he turns to look at Gimli, he wears neither defeat nor confidence. He asks simply, “Is it so obvious?”

Gimli shakes his head. “I doubt the others noticed.” But then, none of them stare at Legolas quite so much as Gimli does. It’s unlikely any saw the blow in battle, where Legolas had swiftly dodged a killing swipe that would’ve sliced right through his throat if he hadn’t rolled back in time. Gimli was both impressed and thoroughly relieved that it only cut away hair, not flesh. Sometimes he can see the practicality in men and hobbits, keeping their hair so much shorter. Many dwarves have lost good beards to battle. Thus far, Gimli’s has been fortunate. He can see Legolas eyeing it—the thick, lush red knots that sometimes add as much cushion as his armour. Legolas’ hair is far finer, straighter, but every bit as beautiful. Gimli promises him, “You look no less lovely for the missing piece.”

A fleeting smile crosses Legolas’ lips, but it doesn’t last long. He murmurs, “Thank you,” but the sentiment doesn’t touch his eyes. 

That bothers Gimli far more than the lost hair itself. It should grow back quick enough—elves never seem to have any trouble growing theirs out. Gimli offers anyway, “I can braid it for you, if you like, to make the area less noticeable while it grows out.” That smile returns, though still sad.

“Thank you, my friend. But it will still be noticeable. I can feel the missing weight of it.”

Gimli snorts. “Typical Elven pride, discounting the skills of a dwarf.”

Legolas actually lets out a small, chiming laugh. He agrees, “Very well, then. I would be honoured if you tried.” Gimli lifts one thick brow, because he’ll do a lot more than _try_. 

Legolas descends along the rocky shore. He sits cross-legged, facing the water, his trim back to Gimli, and Gimli steps over, leaning above him, reaching down to start separating strands. The long curtain of white-gold is every bit as _soft_ as Gimli always imagined it to be. It feels _right_ beneath his fingers—a fine, exquisite material too good for any other artist. If it were under better circumstances, this moment would be the stuff of Gimli’s fondest daydreams.

As it is, he doesn’t allow himself to get too lost in the idle thrill of playing with his elf’s beautiful hair. He has a job to do, and he does it well—he deftly works a series of crisscrossing braids around the back, changing the warp and weft of the cascading waves. As each little braid ends, it’s drawn into a larger one: a complex masterpiece. Gimli only wishes he had an array of gemstones to braid into it, or maybe silver thread. Legolas would look absolutely gorgeous in the jewels of Erebor. 

When Gimli finishes, he feels both pride and disappointment, happy for the journey but sorry that it’s over. He should’ve offered to style Legolas’ hair long ago.

He announces, “Finished,” and withdraws his stubby fingers from the waterfall of pale tresses. Legolas’ slender digits tentatively rise to touch it. 

He leans forward on his knees, tilting his head to eye his reflection in the stream. He checks for a long moment before he settles back and murmurs, “I confess... you have done well.”

“Never doubt a dwarf,” Gimli boasts. Legolas turns around to smile at him, and this time, it’s wide and genuine. Legolas even closes in to peck Gimli’s cheek. Gimli chuckles, “Is that all you have to pay for such a glorious job?”

Laughing delightedly, Legolas gives Gimli a _proper_ kiss, and that’s worth all the jewels in Erebor.


End file.
